


Glass Houses

by pikasafire



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first kiss is a mistake. Claude doesn't know what that makes the second, third and fourth kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass Houses

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken me so fucking long to write that I can't even remember who to blame for this. I'm going to give this to tanukiham though because I love her a lot. Claude and Danny don't actually live together in this, it just seems that way (I'm pretty sure that goes in real life too) Obviously written pre-buyout, set 2011-12 regular season.

*

He's not really sure what makes him do it other than the fact that Sidney fucking Crosby is the most infuriating, annoying asshole in the league. Claude would rather be stuck with Ovechkin, Marchand, fucking _Malkin_ at this stupid promo shoot.

They're arguing over something stupid. Icing or slashing penalties, Claude's not sure, only that Sidney is _wrong_ and he _won't stop talking_.

He doesn't know what the fuck he's thinking past wanting to do something to piss Crosby off, wanting to do something to make him punch Claude in the face: something to give Claude a valid reason to punch back.

He'll kiss him. Yeah. That'll wipe that stupid smirk off his face. 

And before he can think it through, think about what a stupid fucking idea it is, he's leaned across the couch they're on and pressed his mouth to Sidney's. It's barely more than a peck and then common sense kicks in and Claude pulls away, face scarlet. "Um."

Sidney looks like he's been punched. Which, y'know, was kind of the point. 

"Um." Claude repeats, eloquently. What else is he supposed to say. He can't just say nothing. "I didn't mean to do that?"

"Um... okay?" Sid just stares at him. "I won't tell anyone." He offers after a moment because he might be an asshole but he's a decent guy and Claude doesn't know how that works, but it _does_. And Claude desperately wants to be able to throw it back in his face, tell him that he can tell anyone he damn well wants, just to be contrary, but that would be career suicide and so he stares down at his shoes.

"Thanks. I guess." He mutters, because career suicide or not, he doesn't have to be gracious about it.

Sid frowns, opens his mouth like he's about to tell Claude to stick it before he huffs a sigh, "Whatever," he snaps and walks away.

Well, that's possibly the stupidest thing he's ever done. 

*

He isn't going to tell anyone. He spends the individual part of the shoot turning it over in his brain. If Crosby keeps his mouth shut and Claude keeps it to himself, no one has to know. And Sidney may be a dick, but he's an honourable dick and if he says he's not going to tell anyone, Claude believes him.

That lasts for approximately thirty seconds after Claude gets to Danny's, flopping face-first into the couch.

"It went that well?" Danny asks dryly. "Beer?"

Claude mutters something incomprehensible into the cushions.

"He's not that bad." Danny sighs and Claude doesn't have to be looking at him to know that Danny's rolling his eyes.

"I kissed him." Claude looks up long enough to say, and before Danny can say anything at all, "oh God, shut the fuck up." And buries his head back into the cushions. There's silence and after a few uncomfortable seconds, Claude pries his face out of the pillows enough to glare at Danny's startled face. "Don't be weird about this." Claude snaps, "I've done stupider things."

"Did anyone see?"

"That's what you're concerned about?"

Danny shrugs, "Crosby can't throw a punch to save his life, so i'm not worried about that. Why the fuck did you _kiss him_? You hate him!"

"I don't know!" Claude bursts, "I just wanted him to shut up!"

"Jesus, I need more alcohol before I can deal with this." Danny says, throwing his arms up in defeat and heading back into the kitchen.

"Vodka." Claude shouts after him. 

"Look. No one has to know." Danny says an hour later after they've drunk most of the bottle and the world is spinning. "If Sidney says he won't tell, he won't."

"Yeah."

A pause. "You're so fucking stupid."

"Yeah." Claude agrees morosely.

*

They've got a game against the Penguins in Pittsburgh only a few days later because the world hates him.

It's about ten minutes into the first period when Claude's first put against Malkin on the face off. "Stay away from Sid." Malkin snaps over the circle and it's so weirdly unexpected that Claude's too slow off the mark, watching the puck sail away.

Claude should've known better to trust a damn Pen. He lets his anger fuel him for the rest of the game, aggressive and reckless with his checks. His racks up a good nine minutes in the penalty box by the end of second period, even Simmonds is giving him the side eye. 

“You alright there?” Simmer asks, “They got someone giving out free blowjobs in the penalty box or something?” 

“I fucking hate Crosby.” Claude mutters. It’s not a lie. 

Simmer accepts this, “I can punch him in the face for you,” he offers. “If you want.” 

"Thanks, man." Claude says. His teammates are the best.

Except, of course Simmer can’t get within punching distance of Crosby; Sidney’s got too much practice avoiding fights and Simmer's blocked at every turn by an angry Malkin. The fact they lose is just icing on the cake and Claude undresses post-game with sharp, angry motions. He gives his required game interview, perhaps more sullen than normal and he can't take it anymore, stomps out of the room, half-dressed, in search of Sidney fucking Crosby.

He finds him outside the Pens locker room, hair dripping and in his face. "What the fuck do you want?" Sidney demands, evidently as happy to see Claude as Claude is to see Sidney.

"You said you weren't going to tell!" Claude hisses. "And then fucking _Malkin_ comes after me. What the fuck?"

"It's Geno, of course I told him." Sidney says, confused. "What are you doing down this way, do you have a death wish?" He grabs Claude's sleeve, tugging him into a nearby trainers room and closes the door.

Claude hates Sidney, hates his attitude, his existence, his _face_. An overwhelming surge of helpless, desperate anger swells in his chest and Claude shoves him, twists his fingers in Sidney's damp shirt to keep him close, pushes him again, hard enough that Sidney stumbles, the thud of his shoulders hitting the wall.

"What the f-"

Claude kisses him, hand pulling Sid's shirt hard enough that it's got to be painful, digging into the back of his neck, but his mouth is soft and wet and tastes like blue Gatorade.

And Sidney's kissing him back, aggressive and angry, bringing his hands up to grab Claude's shoulders, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. 

What the fuck is he doing?

Claude doesn't know if he wants to fight him or fuck him.

Both sound good.

“I don’t like you.” Claude spits. 

“Trust me,” Sidney bites back, not quite relinquishing his own vicious hold on Claude’s undershirt. “The feeling’s mutual.” 

Claude’s not entirely sure what to say to that, just shoves him once again for good measure. “Stay away from me.” He snaps, and walks away, very carefully not listening to whatever it is Sidney shouts back at him because if he does, he’ll have to argue back, and the way Claude’s feeling - angry and horny and full of restless energy - it’s not going to end well.

The away locker room is mostly empty now, except for Danny who raises his eyebrow at him when Claude comes stomping back in. “Subtle.” Danny says, because he’s a dick. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Claude says, shoving the last of his shit into his bag, tugging his dress shirt on and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Come on. Everyone’s probably waiting for us.”

“For _you_.”

“I’ll punch you. Don’t think I won’t.” 

*

Claude gets a text from an unknown number later that night. _//im not going to tell anyone else//_ it says.

Well. That’s cryptic. He frowns at his phone, types out a quick, _//whos this?//_

It only takes a few seconds for his phone to ping again. _//sidney crosby//_ it says. Like Claude knows any other Sidney's.

What. The. Fuck? _//how the fuck did u get this number.//_

His phone dings _//asked max//_

Fucking _traitor_. Claude vows to punch Max in the balls during their next practice, taps out a curt reply. _//dont txt me//_ and he hopes like fuck that'll be the end of it.

*

Of course it's not. 

Max corners him at morning skate in New York City, a game against the Rangers scheduled later that night. Claude's kind of expecting it, so he resists the urge to break his stick across the back of Max's knees and forces a smile on his face.

“Weird thing happened last night, G.” Max announces, speaking loudly so everyone can hear. "Don’t suppose you know why did Sidney Crosby texted me, asking for your number?"

Claude doesn’t really have anything to say to that. He doesn’t fucking know. "Fraternising with the enemy again, are we?" He says instead, hoping it’ll distract him.

"Always. Answer the question." Apparently not.

Claude sighs, "Trying to learn our game plans? Sobbing over how awesome my plays are? I'm too pretty for him to resist?" He rolls his eyes, "Why don't you ask him?"

Half the locker room is watching them now, curious. "Well I'm assuming he called you,” Max points out, “And you're right here. So why don't _you_ tell me."

"Because it's none of your fucking business?" Claude says sweetly. “Now, shut the fuck up and go skate.” He taps Max’s shins with his stick, harder than he probably should. “Go on.” 

Max sighs. “Worst captain ever.” He makes to head out to the ice, waits until he’s not within hitting distance, “Worse than Sidney!” 

That’s it. Key player or not, Claude’s going to hit him with a puck.

*

It’s bothering him. And Claude’s not really the best role model when it comes to self-preservation or sensible decisions. He scrolls through until he gets to the messages from Sidney and hits reply.

 _//y did u txt me last nite?//_ He sends.

It takes almost no time to get a response. _//just 2 say i wouldnt tell//_ A pause and his phone dings again. _//dont u have a game tonite?//_

 _//in a few hours//_ Why is he even telling Crosby this? 

_//u should be napping//_

_//fuck off//_

There’s no response to that and Claude stares at his phone for a moment before scrolling through. _Save as New Contact_. 

No one has to know, right? And it might come in handy for … something. Whatever.

*

“You have Sidney’s number in your phone.” Danny comments over dinner a few days later, when the boys are at Sylvie’s. “Why?” 

Claude drops his fork, “What were you doing touching my phone?” he demands. Deflecting is always better than lying, especially since Danny has some weird ass sixth sense about lying. Must be a superpower you get when you have kids. 

“Cameron was playing with it when you were around here yesterday.” Danny says, “I rescued it. Gonna answer my question?" 

“It’s nothing.” Claude mutters, focussing on his spaghetti. “It’s just in case.”

“Of what? You’re thinking of defecting to the Penguins?” It’s light and teasing, but just enough to rile Claude up.

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” He would _never_. 

Danny just looks amused, “Just asking.” He takes a mouthful, watching Claude as he chews. “It’s alright, you know. Sidney’s not as bad as you think he is.”

“He’s an asshole.” Claude points out, poking sullenly at his food.

Danny just hides a smile, amused. “Mm-hmm.”

“He _is_. I don't use the number or anything.”

“I’m sure.” It's not quite patronising, but it's obvious that Danny doesn't believe him at _all_.

“It’s just been a few texts.” Claude doesn’t know why he’s still fucking _talking_. “I’m not telling him plays or anything. But if I keep replying, he might tell me something useful.”

Danny's expression is a little more pitying this time. “I know.” He says.

“Mostly it’s just stupid shit." _Shut up, shut up._. "He's just as bossy via text than he is person. It's not like I like him. I hate him." There's a pause and Claude has to bite his lip, compelled to fill the silence with nervous babble and Danny's just _looking_ at him. "I kissed him again." Claude blurts, can't take the silence anymore.

"I know."

Claude pushes his bowl to the side, lets his head fall to the table. "I want to do it again." 

Danny reaches over, runs a comforting hand over Claude's hair. "I know."

How does Danny _do_ that?

*

Claude fucking hates the tightened schedule. They've got three more games ahead of them: four games against the Penguins in ten weeks. Claude's pretty sure he must have pissed off some deity in order to deserve this, but he can't help the little excited thrill of anticipation in his stomach.

He eyes Sidney over the faceoff circle in Philly, can't resist chirping and riling him up. "Gonna actually go this time?" Claude snipes. "Fight your own battles."

Sidney stays silent, grins up at him when he wins the faceoff and Claude shoves him off balance, the refs too busy down the other end to pay much attention. Sid's faster than Claude though, tearing down the other end and Claude gives chase, relishing the way he checks Sidney into the boards, laughing at the _"asshole"_ that Sidney spits out. 

It's frustrating. Sidney's fast and stupidly skilled and it makes Claude's temper rise that little bit more every time Sid strips him of the puck or makes off with some fancy stick handling. It's irrational, but Claude's too angry to care. 

They lose; 3-2, and that just makes this whole thing so much worse. 

Claude's not thinking much when he storms out of the locker room, half dressed. He knows exactly where to go, spots Sidney on his own down a small little corridor and before he can think too hard about it, Claude grabs him by the back of his shirt and tugs him roughly into a nearby supply closet.

“What the fuck?” Sidney demands, but makes no effort to actually leave. “What is _wrong_ with you.”

Claude wishes he knew, there’s gotta be some reason he’s been thinking about this, staring at the juncture of Sid’s shoulder and neck, _wanting_. “Shut up.” He says instead.

They stand in silence for a moment. Sidney’s the first to move this time, shoving Claude up against the shitty metal shelving and pressing their mouths together aggressively. 

It's almost a relief. Claude channels all of his frustration into the kiss, hands impatiently pushing at Sidney's shirt until he's got his hands on skin, shifting them restlessly over the warm expanse of Sid's back and pulling them closer together. Claude's not sure if they're fighting or fucking, rough and heated with enough shoving that Claude knows he's going to have a fuckton more bruises along his back. 

It's not hard to wedge a hand between them, unbuttoning Sidney's stupid tailored dress pants, shoving his hand down them to jerk him off, rough and fast; Sidney's hands fumbling to reciprocate.

They're both too keyed up to last long, Claude swallowing the little noises from Sidney's mouth, brow furrowed in concentration as Sidney comes all over Claude's fist. There's the brief feeling of victory that Claude wasn't first but it's short lived, Sidney hissing a vicious, "Fucking hell, come _on_ ," into his skin and Claude follows with a quiet gasp.

A brief awkward silence as they catch their breath. 

"Why do you keep doing this?" Sid snaps, moving away, flushed red with embarrassment or anger, Claude's not sure which. "What do you want? Is this some shitty attempt at blackmail?" He grabs a towel from the shelf, wipes his hand off before throwing it at Claude. 

"I kissed you first." Claude can't help but point out, then, realising any how pathetic that probably sounds. "I fucking hate you, you know." Deflection is always better than answering the question, especially since Claude doesn't know.

Sid rolls his eyes, "Yeah. I can tell." But he doesn't press the issue, straightening his clothes. "Some of us have buses to catch." He snaps, pushing past Claude back into the corridor.

Claude watches him go, feeling helplessly lost. "I do!" he shouts at Sidney's retreating back.

*

They're texting more frequently. Stupid shit like who's the best goalie in the league, Prospects for next season, trade rumours or bitching about the media. More and more often it's not even hockey related, it's a stupid quote from a movie, a picture of a prank or just offhand thoughts.

It's almost a civil conversation. Claude's trying not to think about it. 

Claude and Danny have a quiet night in with the boys, watching children's films, even though the boys complain loudly.

"Finding Nemo is for little kids. We're not _babies_." Cam sighs, rolling his eyes, "I'm almost thirteen, Dad." 

"Really?" Danny says, feigning surprise. "Well, why didn't you say so earlier? Thirteen. Wow. Of course you can watch restricted films." 

Cameron eyes him suspiciously. "Really?"

"Don't be stupid." Caelan snaps, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, Dad. Can't you just send Cameron to bed so Carson and I can watch something _good_." 

It's almost automatic for Claude to pull out his phone and fire off a text. There's about fifteen people he can think of who would be better to text, but he's sent it to Sidney before he can think about it. _//dannys making me watch kids shows_ //

His phone dings only a few seconds later. _//babysitting?//_

 _//night in. theboys arent even watchin//_ then, grinning down at his phone, _//they want to watch horror movies//_

_//arent they really little?//_

_//12, 14 and 15.//_ Claude sends. _//danny put on Nemo instead. there might be a riot//_

"Dad, this is stupid." 

"I like Nemo." Danny says, failing to hide the amusement on his face. "But I guess we can watch Aladdin, if you don't want Finding Nemo." 

"No!" Cam and Caelan shout in unison. 

Carson appears to think about it for a moment, "Maybe if you promise not to _sing_ this time." 

"Carson!" Calean says, scandalised. He turns to Danny, "C'mon, Dad. _Please_." 

_//Nemos awesome. Not as good as emperors new groove though//_

Claude grins down at his phone, "I vote for Emperor's New Groove." He says out loud. The boys groan. _//they didnt like ur suggestion//_

"I said you could watch something else." Danny says, "But unless you find something you can all watch, and no, Caelan, that does not mean you can watch the Human Centipede - PG-13 maximum, then we are watching Finding Nemo."

 _//then they have shit taste//_ Sidney sends back. _//what have u been teaching them?//_

Claude just laughs, tucking his phone back into his pocket. This light, twisting sensation in his stomach can't mean anything good. 

*

It keeps happening. In Pittsburgh this time. 

“Why do we keep doing this?” Sidney asks, but he doesn’t move away from where he has Claude backed up against a unit full of old gear.

“It’s this... Freudian thing.” Claude suggests, he’s not paying much attention, his fingers tugging roughly at the hem of Sidney's ugly Penguins shirt, "Take this off."

“Freud?” 

"I don't know. I don't care." He pauses, hands on Sidney's hips. “Isn’t Freud all about wanting to have sex with your mother?”

Sidney thinks. “No, no, I think that’s Oedipus.”

“Who?”

“Jesus, did you even attend school?” 

Claude scowls, digs his fingers in a little tighter; worth it to hear Sidney’s low groan. “Shut the fuck up and blow me.”

*

Last match-up of the season. Only a few weeks until playoffs; it's not looking good for the Flyers.

"Good game." Sidney says when they meet in the equipment room. Claude's too tired to even bitch and after a moment of hesitation, Sidney adds. "It’s our last game.” Like Claude didn’t know. “I'll catch you in the off-season." It's phrased half question, half demand.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Claude asks, preoccupied with grabbing Sid's ass to pull him closer. "I don't even like seeing you when I have to." He just wants to stop _thinking_. Everything's falling to pieces and it's a little horrifying that this _thing_ with Sidney is actually one of the few things that's not making him feel sick. 

"I can see that." Sidney says, grinding his hips forward. "I can see how unhappy you are to see me." 

Claude reaches a hand up, fists it in Sidney's hair and tugs, "How about you just shut up," He suggests, kissing him roughly. 

They don't talk at all for a while.

"We'll text," Sidney says afterwards, ducking in to give him a quick kiss before letting himself out of the room. "Catch you soon." He grins, "Maybe in a bed rather than your weird-ass kink for closets."

He's gone before Claude can think of a smart-ass response. Probably a good thing, Claude's not sure what he would have even said. What the hell is he _doing_?

*

"So." Danny says, skating up to Claude at practice, tapping him hard against his shin pads. "How's Sidney?"

Claude freezes. "He's alright." He says automatically, before catching himself and scowling, "I don't know. Why the fuck would I know?" He amends.

There's a moment where Danny just stares at him. "How are you such a bad liar?" He asks, shaking his head in amazement, "Seriously. Even Cameron is a better liar than you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

Danny grins, "It means you _loooove_ him." He skates out of range of Claude's stick, laughing as Claude shoots him a glare. 

"Shut the fuck up." Claude snaps, his face flushing. "I'll high-stick you. Don't think I won't." 

"I'm terrified." Danny says, mock-serious. He skates in close again, "Seriously though." Danny pins Claude with that look that usually makes him squirm and _tell_ him everything, "How are... things?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Claude says, careful not to meet Danny's eyes, focusing instead on the drill some of the other guys are running. "If you're talking about Crosby, I still hate him."

"Sure you do." Danny says cheerfully, "I'm sure you drag everyone you hate into closets and make out with them. You definitely hate him."

"I do!" 

Danny grins, "Really? You drag everyone you hate into closets? Because I haven't heard anything from Geno about that. And everyone knows you hate him as much as you hate Sidney."

Claude pauses, "Wait, what? _No_ , that's not what I meant!"

There's a moment where Danny just watches him, a smile on his lips. "It's okay, you know." He says eventually, nudging Claude with his shoulder. "You can like him. It's not the end of the world." 

"Pretty sure it is." Claude says, but he smiles back helplessly, hating the warmth of the blush on his cheeks.

*

One is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. Claude wonders what the fifth time is.

There's no more games left. The Flyers eliminated; not even making the playoffs. Claude's furious and frustrated and it's no one's fault but his own. 

He finds himself driving to Pittsburgh, can only think of the angry hum under his skin. It's not the work of a genius to find out where Sidney lives, even easier still to allow his frustration to propel him to the door of Sidney's home.

"Hi." Sidney says. The asshole doesn't even look surprised to see him.

“I hate you.” Claude tells him, pushing him inside and shutting the door.

“I know.” Sidney says. There’s no animosity, a smile playing on his mouth, “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.” 

“Good.” Claude says grumpily, but he reaches out, tugging Sidney in by his t-shirt. “As long as we’re clear on that.”

“Crystal.” Sidney grins, even as he tilts his head to kiss him. 

*

END


End file.
